


Cares of Communion

by PipesFlowForeverandEver



Series: Hymns of Struggle [9]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Coarse language, Mystery, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sammy survived Bendy, all listed relationships are nonromantic, but it is very heavily an interpretation of those chapters of canon, i'll add more characters to the tags as they appear, this fic is based mostly or only on chapter 1-3 content and is an AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-06-17 04:31:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15453408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipesFlowForeverandEver/pseuds/PipesFlowForeverandEver
Summary: What's there to live for after you die? You struggle to exist- to make it all the way to your Lord- and all that greets you is Hell wrapped through your own flesh. Purgatory must be real after all. I pray and I pray and finally, something comes. Acceptance is terrifying. -An empathetic attempt to comprehend and console Sammy Lawrence and other residents of the studio.





	1. To Believe

**Author's Note:**

> I also have this fic posted on fanfiction.net. If you're worried about the authenticity of this posting, feel free to contact my fanfiction.net account of the same name and I'll verify for you that this work is not stolen.
> 
> This fanfic references violence and its aftermath as well as depictions of hallucinations and re-experiencing trauma. I do want to assure, however, that this fic attempts to realistically bring together two beings with deep emotional troubles in a way that does not romanticize abuse, but still acknowledges wrongdoings and the trauma of others' actions.
> 
> This fic is an AU titled "Hymns of Struggle" that is based mostly or only on information based in Chapter 1-3 canon, my own idea of how the story possibly could have turned out as seen through the eyes of my OC.
> 
> This sixth arc will likely deal with how spending time together is both terrifying and freeing, and how watching yourself, others, and the world change leaves you breathless for better or worse.
> 
> I mostly write this for both your enjoyment and mine, but comments still brighten my day if you have any thoughts.
> 
>  **NOTE:** I'm just gonna keep an updated list at the end of this work and all the others of all the spectacular fanart you wonderful people keep making me that I'll never stop screaming about. I'll still be posting links in the notes of chapters as new art is made, but it makes sense to keep a big list somewhere!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth.”_ – Hebrews 11:13

How is it that something can be both so wonderful, yet so unbelievably terrible?

So dangerous and yet so comfortingly safe?

So vulnerable to truth and yet so steeled against certainty?

Contradictions are the best way to describe the human experience- maybe every experience one can ever have. Each and every spirit of the studio- new and old- would doubtlessly agree.

…Despite how awful it was to.

Do you know why some people are so peaceful in the face of something absolutely, completely disastrous? Assured in times of the greatest uncertainties? It’s because these people know how they feel.

Or they’ve finally accepted that they don’t know at all.

And in opposition, so it is the same that some of the greatest distresses in life are during times of wait- because we aren’t sure what to do and how to feel about it as we see something coming our way with no known action to slow or speed its arrival. Even if we logically know it will be okay- that there is nothing more we can do besides let fate come its way- we are helpless but to fret.

Often, it’s not the event that we fear but the accumulation of dread in anticipating its arrival, each second a grain added to a rising, choking pit of quicksand wrapping tight around our legs.

So it is that the wait that can kill us.

And so it was the wait that the souls of the studio had been buried with, a grave piled onto the coffin of rebirth after death beside the beaches of ink.

The longest wait of all isn’t intended to be outclassed. The drifting tides of life aren’t meant to still be free to roam through cracks of eternity, like streams out of a river once someone’s body dies and whatever essence that made them alive leaks blindly, beautifully into the universe.

So of course, that which is against the nature of human souls was more frustration, more agony than Francine could ever know. More than what Sammy, Alice, and Norman could ever describe even if they had more than just words.

More than Joey could bear to worsen by his own hand, as much as he feared he could and would.

But of course, the heart is a fierce, resilient thing. So much power in that one spot burning inside your chest that not even a magic that twists your body and mind apart can stop you from finding a way- a way to exist, a way to _be._

A way to make even the vilest of hexes worth what you’ve been forced to give away.

Francine would soon know that each and every soul had a hope- a passion that kept them from falling apart entirely to the grating scrapes of hellfire and shatters of reality, roughened and molded into another form somehow still at least a remnant of who they used to be…

And maybe just a bit of someone new.

Delving into the past had been very different experiences for the two disciples, but they still brought them once again together to the same place; even apart, they had walked hand in hand facing the darkness of uncertainty while feeling shadows of what they once had gnaw at their heels.

And Francine would find that as terrifying as it was, this world was unstoppable in changing who she was too.

It would be up to her and her alone to assure that who she became was someone she wanted to be, and if this shift was a threat or a promise.

Even against the wishes of all who cared for her.


	2. Locked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”_ \- Matthew 6:21

There was a time that now felt so, so far back when Francine got her first clue that everything changed. As poetic as it would’ve been, it wasn’t when she had first walked through that old wooden front door, unwittingly shutting out the last rays of natural light she’d see for who knows long as she pulled it closed behind her. Nor was it when the dread of the studio- at this time a feeling of unease rather than horror- had unsettled her so much when rooms were locked away on this introductory floor. Even when it felt like each eye of every poster- every cutout- was crawling over her back when she wasn’t looking, that wasn’t when she knew things were fundamentally different.

Knob after knob that either gave way or didn’t, it wasn’t until one door stayed shut that had opened for her before that fear for her cousin surrendered to fear for herself.

Not until the front door that let her in kept her from getting out, only for the floor to open beneath her like a dragon’s mouth.

It’s a very specific fright to barricaded from safety, from a known haven. A certain tingle down your neck that makes you feel like you’re being watched. One Francine didn’t expect to feel again.

But here they were.

 A grunt roughened the inside of Sammy’s throat as he tugged and pulled with all his might at the saferoom door, but it would not budge. It simply groaned back, metal pushing against metal as locks and boards kept it in place. With each back and forth of this noisy but meaningless conversation, Francine felt a frown dig deeper and deeper into her cheeks.

It, of course, remained as he finally gave up.

With a final release of the door’s handle, his arms fell limp by his sides. The mask that had returned to his face stared blankly at the scratches, rust, and stains upon the surface ahead…and yet a painting could still convey dismay.

Somehow, someway, the door had itself locked once Sammy had left to wander, dealing with the feelings she left him to stew in.

Their safe place was gone.

Doesn’t it say a lot that this wasn’t what bothered Francine the most? The anxiety she had and the definition of “safe” were very, very different from when she first arrived. The shift from being deathly worried about her physical safety had steadily dissolved to the inevitability of severe emotional upset.

Sammy had discovered only shortly before the woman’s efforts to make the bedroom of their apartment a place of comfort…a remnant of _home._

And now he was discovering what it looked like to watch her lose it all a second time.

But if it was really so awful…she hid it well.

She had to.

For her own sake.

As the man saw her eyes slide to the floor, her hands slowly fidgeting over the texture of her backpack straps, he felt he had to say something…but what could ever make up for this besides the haven’s return?

He didn’t know how, but this had to be his fault. He was the last one to leave, after all- and the blackness that choked his sight and led him to wander into that in grey, papery archive had left him unknowing what happened between then and when he sat among the colors of her old life. He still remembered looking down at the mahogany cloth cascading over his arm as he sat upon the hammock.

And then it was just…gone.

All left with him was his own, oily corpse and the miraculous gift that Bendy-

And then he remembered that even if it wasn’t much, he had something more than words to give after all.

“My friend…” Sammy nearly whispered. Normally his voice was as icy as his touch, but this was…soft. Warm. Like trying to hold someone with just the breath from your lungs. It’s remarkable how empathy can make the same tone, same notes upon the scale, sound different upon one’s lips than it usually would without it.

He saw her chin turn back up. She still wasn’t facing him with her body, but now at least their eyes met once again. It made him sigh in some discomforting mixture of relief and remorse, its release seeming to slide down his spine.

The way she gazed up at the man taller than she- the tips of her shoes pointed to touch each other, and her fingers clasped just hard enough upon her backpack straps near her chest that you could see the smallest of indents being made- made even someone as disconnected as Sammy to see that this was a stance of childish vulnerability. It was like a student being taken to a new school for the first day, witnessing their home close up behind them as they wait for the bus to take them away for the longest hours they’ll ever experience.

But Sammy in all his hundred-so years of being alive and dead knew that even if she was young, to call her a child would be a disservice and a dismissal of all the growing up she had done…and helped him do too.

And that’s why even if she wouldn’t tell him why she kept her secrets, he trusted her in doing so…at least for now.

The physical presentation of this resolve was so beautifully daunting that it rendered them silent.

Upon his palm and underneath his thumb rested a surface not black and slick with ink but with glass, the reflection of the prophet’s scarred mask and her dirty face staring back up at them, looking so very tired. Like a picture frame, their heads were encircled by a rosy border.

Even dulled and darkened in the phone’s screen, Sammy could see a pair of eyes slowly but surely widen.

And she could see the teeth behind the visage of Bendy bare as he reacted to her reaction.

And then they both reacted to that.

“I’m sorry-”

“It’ll be okay-”

Both at once, both cutting the other off as the surprise of it all made both sets of shoulders rise in a flinch and their heads twitch back up to see the caster of these reflections.

A flurry of blinks from Francine and a slightly gaping mouth behind Sammy’s mask.

Suddenly a curve warped upward upon her face until it pushed her cheeks towards her eyes, far enough that you could see her teeth too.

Instead of hiding the growing glossiness between her eyelids, it emphasized it.

With a hushed “come on,” both hands finally left her chest- one to take the phone he offered and the other to push its palm upon his back, urging him to finally walk away alongside her to leave lost things be.

But she couldn’t help but gaze over her shoulder one more second as they did, her possessions secure but out of reach maybe forever, much like her family.

She didn’t stare long, though, because she unconsciously accepted that sometimes a soft place to fall is a person and not a room.

And Sammy kept alongside she despite his reservations, understanding maybe better than anyone else ever could about how much more precious the presence of another soul can be than any treasure you could find.


	3. Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”_ – Matthew 11:28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MY FRIEND JUNE MADE REALLY REALLY REALLY SWEET ART OF SAM AND FRAN PLEASE LOOK  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/176638762613/thedarkpuddles-for-the-emotional-palettes-meme

“Sammy?”

“Yes, Francine?”

“I’m tired.”

“I know.”

A conversation of few words that still meant much. She was exhausted. A harrowing adventure where she had to run, dodge, and leap until she was breathless, only to be toppled over by the overwhelming weight of discovery.

Not finding another place with a bed only made this ache worsen.

Now she was strangely grateful for the searcher to chase her away from Sammy’s sanctuary that time so far back when he left her alone in the band room, settling that it was the apartment she’d live in and not here. Not that her curiosity of this space wasn’t finally satiated- not that she wasn’t glad to yet again have some closed off space to call her own, but…

Sleeping on the floor gets really old really fast.

And well. The room itself didn’t help.

Francine was currently leaning her sore spine onto the wall as she sat upon the floor, opposing Sammy as he sat upon a stool next to a…toilet. She had asked out loud some time ago, “Why would someone install a toilet in here?” but of course Sammy didn’t design this room- he simply made use of it, and so he had no answer. Her head thumped so hard with a painful pulse that she could hardly note the details of his haven…

…But it was still enough to make her feel doubtlessly unsettled.

Some sort of giant switch with pipes to the left and a bit ahead on that wall…and to the right, another banjo. That made her smirk. As much as Sammy cared for the one that she broke, there always seemed to be another one of those things within his reach- like it was his destiny.

Well, as her eye trailed towards the desk next to the instrument and then the musician himself, she remembered that to say music was his destiny wouldn’t be incorrect.

Francine barely sighed as she looked him over. He was hunched slightly as he sat- or nearly leaned, he was so tall- upon the stool, hands on his knees and mask still facing her way as it had done for probably hours now. How funny was it that a broken piece of wood made her feel…comfort?

Well, maybe “comfort” wasn’t the right word, she surmised as he caught her staring back with a head tilt. It’s more like…she knew who was there. She knew his _real_ face now, and even when he couldn’t live without his mask, to see him even as he couldn’t see her had been a gift to her fatigued soul.

Her shoulders laxed back in this reminiscence, and the slight but certain shift it caused in her gaze’s focus was about to be a reminder of why his sanctuary wasn’t serving as her own right now.

Next to Sammy were yet more words scrawled with ink; a poem about a song, a hymn of “his” coming.

She remembered.

Yet again she began to be consumed by how other people felt about the ink demon, agitating her as they seemed to shout and whimper as she herself was curled up in her own mind much like she was now on the floor, still dealing with her own developing feelings about an inky god.

And she swore that the more tired she got- the more she wanted to sleep but couldn’t- the more she actually seemed able to _hear_ these voices. They crawled over her and drifted into her head like wind blown into her ears; it felt like spirits in the pipes up ahead had come to put their hands on her shoulders and-

It was all too much.

The young woman stood up with a groan, cracks in her bones a welcome noise to shake away what must have been the speeches of delirium and insomnia. Sammy remained as he was, but it was clear that his attention was sharply on this sudden change of hers. Francine had relocated often enough since he took her to his sanctuary, getting up or moving around as her body grew restless of wooden surfaces and cold floorboards, but this seemed…different. This seemed purposeful.

As she picked up her bag in confirmation, his heart dropped.

“I gotta go, Sammy,” she confessed as she slipped her pink sack over her shoulders, “I really need some rest.”

Now Sammy up till this point had done a reasonable job adapting to the considerations of human mortality- especially considering he hadn’t needed them himself for as long as his memory allowed. He had abided by her wishes before for food, water, and a place to rest. But to him…she still had all that now. Sure, there wasn’t a bed anymore, but…

This was _his_ place of rest. And to be frank, he was hurt by the idea that what had always had been enough for him wasn’t enough for her.

You could hear that in his voice.

“Are you not resting _here,_ my shee-” Ah, there it was again, before he interrupted it. He called the woman his “sheep” much as he had referred to the man who visited long, long ago; it came to his tongue whenever he was driven by his obligations to her and their savior. And certainly, he was now.

He stopped himself because now he wasn’t sure right now how he felt about the lord who charged him as her steward.

Francine’s eyes flickered over him as the quiet that followed grew. As much as she lamented that he couldn’t understand, she felt sorry. There was a combination of frustration as well as sympathy for his lack of comprehension; he didn’t know what it was like to need a proper place to sleep, but that wasn’t his fault.

And in all her exhaustion, a drive to fulfill this need softened her words but still proved determined to move forward.

“I’m…not, actually.” It came out with almost a light laugh, it felt so obvious to her, subdued just a touch by an acceptance of his ignorance. The stretch of her lips, however, was not a smile.

As he slumped further and a mouth behind his mask seemed to stretch as well in concern and incredulity, it was only then that she realized how personal it was for him.

“Sammy…your place is…” A pause as she looked over the room yet again. As much as it bothered her now…- “…special to you. I can tell. And I’m…really happy to have shared it with you- that you’d share it with me when you never had to.”

That much was true. At this point she could be in a room on fire and Francine would be happy to see him. The thought of his cares, certainly, counted.

“…But I need to go somewhere else, just for a bit.”

And as this was sighed, she realized it meant a bit more than she had first thought. They had just been here together for who knows how long in silence. Neither of them had the energy for conversation nor distraction. They had proven before to be capable of entertaining one another in the past, but this atmosphere was…thick. With what?

She couldn’t name it, but there was a gut feeling that she needed breathing room.

“…Alright,” Sammy agreed as he stood up from the stool, careful not to step on a sheet of music titled _“The Lighter Side of Hell”_ that laid face up on the floor, “We’ll search for another place for you to stay.”

She frowned.

“Sammy…” Several blinks fell, pushing away both tiredness and worrying thoughts. “I was thinking I would just go alone.”

It took a second for him to register what she had just said. There was no way she could mean that. Every single time he left her side, something happened. That wasn’t even an exaggeration; each time they separated, fate had proved it to be the choice of a fool, and he was left looking at her bruises.

Harm that maybe he could have prevented.

But that was only one way to look at it.

Before he could argue- and she could _see_ he was going to- she elaborated.

“Sammy…you gotta stop being scared for me!” The woman shrugged, desperate to convey what she had learned the hard way. “I’ve- I’ve made it out okay. I know how to keep those ‘search’ guys away and I’m not going anywhere that’ll have anyone else.”

She walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“I can take care of myself.”

After all she did to chase Bendy, her friend would have no idea how much she meant that.

“And after all that’s happened with us…I think it’d be good to remember that.” A small smile, hoping to get him to grasp what she meant. “I don’t want you to be scared for me forever, so let me show you I’ll be okay.”

And then a truth:

“If we’re just gonna be scared every single moment, then what’s the point?” She shrugged again, fully aware she was helpless to this reality. “I can’t just…think I can’t make it here. That’d be terrible- for…both of us.” She blinked up at him. “Right?”

And wasn’t that right indeed. A hopeless, fearful existence it would be for both if they continued as they did now; Sammy’s anxiety for her was justified- and of course Francine was rightfully unwilling to be without him in the face of many dangers- but it was…doing no one good if she _could_ be by herself and they both ignored that. It’d be like attending a papercut as if it was a gaping would.

Exerting energy upon things when it should be conserved for something much more important, maybe even more dire. Especially now that Francine had survived what must have been the worst this studio had for her with only a few scrapes to show for it.

And even though she couldn’t see those dents inside his head she’d call eyes, Francine could almost see him blink behind his mask. She prayed in this moment of ponderance that even if he didn’t get what she meant, he’d trust her.

God only knows how awful it’d be if she couldn’t be trusted to even catch her breath like she asked for. As much as she cared about him, how the prophet would respond next would say a lot about how they moved forward:

He would choose if they were both disciples upon equal ground of if he was the shepherd and the woman was merely his sheep.

His shoulder adjusted as her fingers rested upon it, as he moved his arms up to grip both of her own respectively.

“Please…please come back.”

And even as every muscle hurt to do so, she smiled.

* * *

How grateful she was for this. Who would have thought that walking by herself in those dark, dripping halls would be…relieving? Certainly not when she had first arrived to the haunted studio. But now she knew that at least vaguely, she was safe. She wasn’t chasing after anything this time, so the weird twistiness of the studio would leave her alone…

…Right?

She tried to push this thought back, realizing she hadn’t considered the possibility she was wrong. No time for fears; she was already in too deep now.

And it wasn’t only Sammy she was trying to prove something to either.

She had to _live_ here. As much as the idea sickened her, she was beginning to accept it. She couldn’t feel like she had to be glued at Sammy’s hip or else she’d die. But wait, what if that was true?- No, no, no, no, no, no. Stop that. You’re okay. You’ll be okay.

What came into sight was not only a good distraction from her doubts, but a sight for sore eyes.

And as she slunk into the couch, it was certainly the same for a sore body.

There was a very good reason that Francine was grateful Sammy didn’t ask where she had planned on going. The woman knew she’d be fine, but heaven knows how he’d react if he visualized her as she was now…

… Unwinding by herself amid the comforts of the Heavenly Toys.

Francine could admit that she had thought about doing this for a while. Hell, that couch looked more comfortable than that gurney she called a _bed._ But when you only got so much, sometimes you push things away to survive.

For a while that meant the temptation of resting out in the open where searchers could be, but right now that meant anything but.

And besides, even if Alice came around, she…wasn’t scared. Francine wasn’t going out of her way to talk to her- or rather bother- and even if she did? She wasn’t…worried. Sammy would never believe her- sometimes she wouldn’t have either- but she wasn’t afraid of any wrath the angel would have. Mortally, anyway.

For some reason she never felt she’d hurt her. Just for some reason.

And as these meditations passed by, suddenly everything felt so comfortable. Francine had been singing as loudly as her sleep-deprived voice would allow, knowing that would keep those half-man things from going after her as long as she did. The way her backpack grazed the sides of her legs as it rested between them was almost a blanket to someone so tired. The low hum of the electric lights above fell in tandem with her voice as she sunk further and further into a seat every bit as comfortable as it looked, and suddenly the room filled with toys seemed like a dream.

It wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes, right? She wouldn’t fall asleep. No need to turn her phone on for music when she would keep singing.

_Silly girl._

* * *

A wonderful, beautiful hum floating around her head and through the room. It didn’t know the words, but it was still utterly enchanting as it tried its best to imitate Francine’s melody. Smooth, sweet, and soothing.

As the woman woke up, there was a delay to identify that something was very different.

Maybe even very, very wrong.

Across the room as her eyes adjusted out of the blurriness of the sandman’s touch, black figures organically shifted back and forth, swaying ever so slightly with the sound she heard tint the air. The searchers, yet again, were caught under her spell.

Satisfied, they disappeared as Francine shot up from her seat, leaving the woman alone with her guardian angel, the seraph’s legs crossed and an arm stretched past her cherub’s back as they now lounged together, side by side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this chapter half because I REALLY need the drama of them separating to be a plot device alone to stop being a thing. I've beat that to death. It's not like they won't leave each other and reunite, of course, but I think I can't drain any legitimate stress any more dry than i have and still be a compelling story.
> 
> The other half, of course, is because I have things to show you that i don't want Sammy to know ;)
> 
> Also as of now I have no idea how much of the Chapter 4 updates I'll apply to the fic. I suppose assume I'm not until you see or I say otherwise.


	4. Somewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“After singing a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.”_ – Matthew 26:30

_“You shouldn’t be so rec_ kless, little cherub,” a voice cooed by her side, slightly broken into two. It was a sing-song tease as Alice made herself known- or rather as Francine came to realize the obvious.

“W-” the woman stuttered breathlessly, jumping to her feet so fast that her head seemed to spin, “What are you-?!”

And even though it was Francine standing up and Alice now seated upon the couch alone, the latter of the women was the one that clearly had control- an aura of regal superiority radiating from a half-closed eye and relaxed fingers softly thumping against the top of the cushion. But of course she did:

“How awfully bold of you to come into _my_ space and ask me what _I’m_ doing here.”

Shit.

Francine couldn’t seem to catch her breath after waking up so fast, but unease was now what kept her lungs just short of what she needed. Purposefully or not, she had fallen asleep in the seraph’s domain. It wasn’t like Francine hadn’t anticipated maybe _something_ in response to her taking rest in the entrance of Heavenly Toys, but what she had mentally prepared for was what seemed to be the usual complaint Alice sent through the speakers overhead. Heck, maybe she even a threat. The intruder felt ready for that, if only she could sit by herself just for a moment and let her mind go.

But it had gone too far by no one’s folly but her own, and the warden of dolls herself had arrived in response.

Heaven only knew if this was merely a scolding or a show of wrath, and so the woman couldn’t help but feel her pulse pound through her arms even as Alice looked so calmly back up. There was only one thing left to do-

“I’m- I’m sorry!” she squeaked, voice still subdued by exhaustion. Francine reached down for her bag; even though it was so much closer to her than to the angel, the dread of invading her personal space was overwhelming enough to make her take it as fast and as the waking muscles in her arms allowed. Alice’s gaze simply followed the movement, but an uneven face seemed to only pierce into the woman more and more with the silence of judgement.

“I’ll…I’ll leave now. Sorry.”

And just as the mortal took a step back to pivot and run from the consequences-

“Not so soon, are you?”

-…They had come for her faster than she could leave them behind.

Francine looked past her now half-turned shoulder to see the angel rise from her lounge. God, she forgot she was so tall. All the ink beings were simply bigger than the woman, and so to say they all made her feel small would be an understatement.

So of course, she was anxious about what would happen next. Her breath quickened, and her pulse felt like it’s load had abruptly grown heavier. Eyes twitched about as she gazed at the angel, fast blinks that betrayed how turbulent her inner thoughts had become.

But as the angel stood up, maybe in her height she saw something more. Maybe the dark bags under the woman’s eyes; maybe the shake in her fingers under the stress of the stained bag’s weight; maybe the slight tremble of her lip that served as evidence that her mouth couldn’t even gape without being tired.

Maybe she saw all that, or maybe she only saw an opportunity. Either way, Alice decided then to act upon it.

“Come with me.”

And with an expression certain of something Francine couldn’t name, the woman of paper and ink tilted towards the staircase to the workshop, and somehow an empty, black eye socket seemed to stare back at her in wait.

And Francine took a second to stare back before finally taking in one sure, steadying breath to find composure. She nodded, knowing she was ready as could be for whatever was next.

Which was still not at all.

What Alice had to say as she began to lead the woman away from her time of peace only made it worse.

“We need to talk.”

* * *

Well this was certainly different.

Francine sat upon yet another soft couch with yet more toys in what could be best described as a dressing room, only willing to rest once again after Alice gestured that she do so. The stuffed toy that looked like how…well…Alice was _supposed_ to look like was both a childish comfort and yet another pair of eyes to make her feel watched.

So this was the path of the angel, huh? It was about as different as the demon path could be. No ink upon the floors and none of the accompanying terror that came with it. To think that right now behind the wall in front of her was placed that tape that made her start chasing a god...-

As Alice leaned onto the cabinet right across from her, arms crossed and chin turned down, Francine remembered there were more important things to think about right now.

What did Alice want to talk to her for? The woman hoped that it was just to address that she shouldn’t come here again; their last meeting wasn’t…of the lightest tone. Well, she _did_ give Francine that photo, but…-

And there again- her mind wandered again to the hunt for answers that had turned an upside-down life upside-down once more. Francine was almost grateful that the angel finally interrupted her lost thoughts.

_“Why are you here?”_

The sweeter of the voices she possessed was the one used now. Was there a pattern in which spoke? There had to have been, but the woman couldn’t sparse it out. Regardless, it was an inevitable question that Francine was glad to answer in hopes to receive mercy for her behavior.

“My…room got locked and I can’t get in. I just wanted somewhere to sleep-”

“No.”

And the smoother tone came back, weighted with intent as the black and white toon talked over an excuse. Dark bangs brushed her forehead as Alice shifted, the shadow of them falling over her eye and socket.

“Why are you here?” she repeated.

…Oh.

Francine forgot that not everyone just knew as Sammy did. But she had to tell _him_ of course. She must have been the biggest mystery to Alice; in front of her was a woman that interrupted her plight for perfection just as the angel interrupted her pity party.

And even as tired as she was, the studio’s intruder sighed before seeing she had to validate her chaotic presence in an ecosystem that carried on as is without any disruption before as she had brought now.

It took…a while to tell it again- or it at least felt that way. Was it only a few sentences, or was it an hour or so of recollection and lament? Francine wouldn’t have been able to tell you.

The pain of losing your life is timeless.

Finally, quiet.

Both singers gripped their own arms, but the meanings they held were entirely different. Francine was raw with emotion, being forced to remember yet again what it felt like to fear Gabby was gone forever- only to realize it was she that may be. And so, she was holding herself, as if letting go would make everything inside her flood out and away to god knows where.

Her mouth felt like a dam overflowing with hurt and longing, and so she was grateful for it to finally be free to close shut. There was a hope Alice would be satisfied and let her go…but she was anything but.

Because as Alice unfolded one arm to put an ink-gloved hand to her chin, she wanted to dive into the very thing Francine was afraid would make her drown.

_“That doesn’t explain anything…!”_

What? What was she-

“This doesn’t explain any of that…!”

As the angel’s face twisted into one of growing concern, Francine’s mirrored with growing fear of the unfamiliar. “What? What do you mean-?”

“I _MEAN_ -” Alice began to almost shout, removing her lean so she may fully face her uninvited guest, “-that this is _no reason_ for the ink demon to do all he has!”

At first Francine was afraid she was being called a liar in her own tale of finding her cousin. Now? She knew she was wrong; it had to be about something else. But-

“I don’t understand,” the mortal managed to reply with wide eyes pinched slightly at the bottom, cheeks pressed back in shock and dismay.

And then the seraph with half of a melted face seemed to melt even more with her own boiling upset.

 _“…I saw you.”_ Her throat seemed to be choking on her own words as they emerged hushed and shaken. Rage. Confusion. _Worry._ “I saw you chase after him. _I saw the walls change and swallow you away.”_

Finally, Francine’s jaw dropped as she comprehended the nature of her questioning. But the horned detective wasn’t done.

 _“You were gone. I couldn’t follow you anymore- it all went…black.”_ The formed lips upon Alice’s face parted so that both sides showed teeth, and she almost seemed to spit through them now, she spoke so harshly. “I thought you were _dead.”_

And that’s why she had begged Francine stay. From her perspective, Alice had only spotted what had occurred in her domain; and even as much had happened there, it was not enough to understand. Hell, Francine was there for all of it and still didn’t understand, herself. The demon almost seemed to be playing a game- that is, if he had anything to do with the shapeshifting wood and pipes. If not-

“He…helped me.”

It was a tender admission. How terrifying it is to realize you’ve been put into the hands of someone you can’t comprehend at all- not their motives, thoughts, or even ways. That was she with Bendy, the liquid shadow that seemed to follow at her heels.

Maybe Alice felt this vulnerability radiate from Francine’s heart, because the woman heard a light gasp and an expression sharp with bewilderment seemed to soften.

But then…it twisted into something much more _doubtful._

“With what?”

Taken aback. Stolen breath. Racing pulse.

Francine knew she couldn’t tell her. What could she even say?! The only way to explain what happened would be to break her promise- to let the studio know that Joey was not only alive but well- still rosy red with human blood in his veins, still filling and emptying his lungs when he so selfishly took the same right from everyone else.

And she remembered, most vitally, how Joey was so certainly wary of what would happen if they knew, too.

The longer it took for Francine to reply, the further Alice’s face was warped by suspicion. She had to say something-

“He helped me try to find something I lost.”

An explanation blurted out before she could censor it in any way. It was a lie. God, Francine hated lies.

But it made Alice’s scrutiny wane into something more…curious, and so the burden of deceit was countered with the relief of budding trust.

“…And what was that?” came the counter.

Silence. The mortal’s stare was glued to her hands- to her and the angel’s feet. What would the ink demon help her find?!

_“The boy?”_

Francine’s turn to gasp, flinging her head up to see Alice had come closer. Black lips- even torn in two- still seemed to part in amazement. A story was being woven by the heavenly being’s own imagination as the mortal made her wait in suspense.

And as much as it made Francine hate herself, she would allow it.

A nod. She couldn’t bear to actually speak such a falsehood, so she prayed this would be enough.

It was.

And now in Alice’s mind, everything hinged on one thing:

_“…Did you find him?”_

Hands clasped tight until she could feel the sweat from one hand moisten the other. Francine dipped her head again, biting her bottom lip as her heart swelled with something awful. For once in this whole debacle, she could say something that was true.

But of course, it had to be the worst.

“No.”

An utterance barely came from Alice’s mouth, something between a groan and a sigh high-pitched with the sting of dare she say s _ympathy._ But if it was kindness undeserved the haloed spirit let leak from her lips, she soon sealed it back shut.

“I…see.”

And the air once again knew no sound but the blooming reaches of awkwardness, both women falling from the heights of intense emotion until the impact hit them senseless. Apparently one of them couldn’t leave it with that.

You’d be surprised who.

“…What song was that, little songbird? The one you were mumbling earlier?”

This made their sights meet again, and the mortal weary with her own body and tongue managed to spot the…gentleness ahead of her, glossing that single iris, somehow even helping her black hair frame a pale, torn face until it seemed a bit more solid than before thanks to the touch of humanity.

It was enough for Francine to push back the sickness she made herself feel so she may speak again:

_“Somewhere Only We Know.”_

An amused grunt from the being surrounded by her own image in this room of soft pillows and candlelight.

“Isn’t that ironic?”

A stretch of the mouth to one side- in a smirk instead of a wince this time around as Francine looked around the room and back at her host. “Yeah.”

And as the angel stood over her, something came unexpected.

Humming. Wonderful, sweet humming. As much as Sammy was given credit for retaining his musicality, Alice deserved the same, being able to hear a tune once from unprofessional lips not even in the same room. She identified it, repeated it, and made it _better._

Suddenly Francine wasn’t only fatigued by a lack of sleep. The events of the studio caught up with her, finding weakness in the cracks of her soul as she never had a true opportunity for repose. Like before, she so foolishly let her eyes close to the sound of a soothing promise of peace and settled feelings somewhere, some day to come.

“You may stay here if you need, my cherub,” Francine heard a voice linger somewhere by her side. It was tinged with a tone so similar to the lullaby that she almost didn’t perceive it amid the rest of her words. “I’ll advise you again to leave alone as best you can.”

A pause. Maybe she was thinking about Sammy, wondering why the past two times the mortal wandered her halls he seemed to have no part in it. Maybe it was about the ink demon, in all her assurance of his evils- questioning how or why he would possibly help the girl in search for who she lost. Regardless, this was the guidance Alice had for someone with everything she ever wanted.

_“I don’t want to see someone with as much as you have to lose it all for nothing.”_

* * *

There was no telling what separated this moment from the next. Not how long Francine slept, nor how long it took for the change to take place.

But it did.

An organic hum of a choir of two within one at some point had given way to an unnatural one. It was like that of the pipes but louder…and somehow more far away. It reverberated until you could feel it inside your chest, making the blood inside you ripple from your heart to the tips of your fingers.

When the studio’s unwelcome wanderer awoke, she saw that she was alone.

But more importantly, she saw that the wall ahead had left her too, leaving nothing behind but a gaping hole into a hallway with no seen end.

As she rested upon the couch, waking up to face this void felt like it was trying to suck her very soul inside with an invisible, untouchable wind. As shaken as she was, something about this…spoke to her. Even as fear gripped her neck, it felt like a tug rather than a choke.

You can only oppose a darkness like this for so long before it eats you up, and so with one last look to the exits both right and left- thinking of Sammy and Alice respectively in either direction- Francine moved between towards something impossible.

As she was convinced by a wordless magic, all it had to do was call to her need to know, a need to _prove_. And what bigger mystery was it than this, what greater deed than to go alone where she hadn’t before- because now that her life lacked what she had before, there was almost a compulsion now to push on as if she could not retain her agency otherwise.

It was so strange how both grateful and dreadful someone felt as a step crossed trustingly once again into the unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the song, btw, or at least the cover I was thinking of:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fAizIX_TNVM


	5. Only We Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Give strong drink to the one who is perishing, and wine to those in bitter distress; let them drink and forget their poverty and remember their misery no more.”_ – Proverbs 31:6-7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't lie...I'm *really* happy with how this turned out. I hope you like it, too!!! <3

Maybe it shouldn’t have been so unexpected where the studio led to her next. It brought out of the gloom a line of eggshell white- a form that grew as light shifted to reveal more and more of a statuesque shape ahead. An oval waxed much like a moon does as the month goes on until the brim of this curve touched its base, haloing above a shade of orange-red that seemed to become brighter the closer she got. And as she observed the figure that waited in the shadows, her eyes flew side to side in inspection.

That’s because suddenly, a sound had filled the air. Rattling. Metal? Windchimes? It was a high-pitched tingle- almost like fairies flew invisible overhead until the space around Francine was encompassed with the music of their dust.

As her sight settled, so did the wordless voices of the ethereal. Light dawned until it touched the walls, and the sound of magic became a slowly drifting sound of shifting paper.

Her eyes adjusted just in time to see a sourceless wind cease to push the thin layer loosely plastered vertically about her, and drawings all around finally stilled so they may stare.

She stared back.

Smile after smile after smile. The same one with those familiar, angular eyes above bared teeth.

Face upon face grinned upon her. Many were crude. Some were nearly perfect- and a few were hardly recognizable at all.

But they were all, undoubtedly, _Bendy._

And at some point she had unwittingly stepped into a silent standoff, the nature of it uncertain to be hostile or simply awed. Too much paranoia or just enough awareness made it seem like each childish replica of the studio’s master was looking right at her.

It was interrupted by a gasp.

Up until now, she had been too distracted by the reveal of the environment to see as the darkness unfurled to not only give her a new world, but someone to share it with.

But unlike these walls, the person entrapped by them was one she was acquainted with.

“I…” he began with a soft voice subdued by astonishment, “…Hadn’t expected you back so soon…!”

And then the strange murk of the room fully pulled back, candlelight upon the floor gifting the woman a being that maybe she had unconsciously wanted to see again all along.

“Maybe never,” Joey Drew added under his breath.

Inexplicably, the studio had allowed Francine to find the very person it had fought so hard to keep away. It was flabbergasting, even when putting aside the supernatural manner in which she had arrived. The last time was a _struggle;_ the moving wood stood in her path like jungle vines coming to life, only able to be kept at bay by the culling of an axe’s rusting blade. To simply… _give_ him to her now was... _preposterous_ to a woman weary of battling for every piece of humanity she had ever found since she arrived.

It seemed that this scrap of an old life was just as surprised to see her, too, judging from the way his golden eyes stretched wide behind ink-stained glasses.

“H…hey.”

An utterly dumfounded mumble of a greeting she gave in response, still not done processing who and where the studio brought her too.

As the seconds ticked by, a balance shifted. Francine remained frozen in her bewilderment while something dawned upon Joey’s lightly wrinkled face. He…softened- as he saw something in her, in this situation that they had been dropped into like experimental rats meeting in the middle of the same maze.

“It’s… _good_ to see you.”

Now there was no proper way to describe how much this meant to the ginger spirit. Someone that admitted he was scared for anyone to witness let alone _speak_ to him again- lest he bring them more harm. He was fearful of the same now that Francine was in his presence but maybe…maybe she didn’t know him well enough for her keeper be quite as submissive to his apprehensions.

It would continue to agonize him either way, seeing a precious soul risk all she had just to walk further into his abyss.

But despite this dread, undoubtedly it was- truly- good to see her; he had to admit that.

Rosy knuckles slowly uncurled their fingers, instinctively rising to an occasion that he had never expected to see again.

Dumbstruck with nothing more she could say nor do, Francine gave Joey the first handshake a human’s grasp had given him in almost a century. She caught a glimpse of a streak across his palm of a different tone than the rest of his skin, but soon the pull of his expression caught her attention instead.

Wide eyes under a brow furrowed with perplexity met those behind glass; they saw them pinch up as a huff of a laugh briefly graced his lips with disbelief, flickering up and down as a soul choked dry of companionship for so, so long drank in the person before him and the impossible touch of her hand.

Eyelashes fluttered with slow but numerous blinks, Francine stunned and gaping at the short man with the awkward but certainly cordial mannerisms.

“Please, sit with me, won’t you?”

As Joey gestured behind him, Francine noticed a large box- a desk. It was a smooth sort of finish- not the scratchiness of the other furniture of wood she had come across, and there was a chair on each side of different, grander styles than she’d seen here before.

Only heaven could say how much relief was seeped into the sigh that accompanied her back sinking into soft, supportive cushioning. Even if she had just come from a couch, days upon days of wood and thin cloth had left a gaping desire for surfaces more fitting for living. With her breath’s release, eyelids shut, and a slightly pouted lip remaining open as Francine felt her spine’s reprieve.

Joey, however, still stood as he approached the opposing seat. The sight of her like this seemed to grab him, brow curling downward with concern as his mouth stretched back in something right between a frown and a gentle grin.

You could hear papers shuffle beneath his unhurried feet as he adjusted himself behind his own chair, arms folded to rest across the top with his glasses shining sharp over a softened face; he was observing.

He didn’t get to speak with his consequences so often.

“Are you comfortable?” Spoken almost unfathomably quietly, half a laugh at her quick adjustment and half choking on the sight of it. Finally, her eyes opened again and refocused upon the ghostly cartoonist with a reserved nod.

Whatever curved his mouth now chose to drop it.

“I’m so sorry,” he replied in nearly a whisper, he being the reason she missed this softness at all.

Side to side her eyes rolled across the floor until eventually discovering what he meant; and even as she understood, she still had no words. Simply numb and drawn to meet his gaze again despite her inability to respond.

His own eyes blinked with the self-consciousness, the guilt of it, and the grip upon his sleeves tightened and fumbled as he eventually turned his head away with overcoming feelings.

A few breaths of silence, the two of flesh and blood again alone with his sins.

…And maybe hers too.

“Now, you must have come for a reason.”

That made her chin almost jump to look up at him, drifting back down just a second before.

Across from Francine, Joey was still keeping his lean on the back of that chair; his legs crossed behind him, toes tipped to the floor as most weight went to his front and upper body. His chin still turned to the side, but there was no doubt that the one visible eye of his profile was upon her.

“Why are you here?”

That question again, so soon- _much_ too soon. A heavy sigh fell from her lips, so very exhausted of it.

“I’m here because I was looking for someone…-”

Francine’s voice trailed off, one last nearly shameful look to him before shaking her head and closing her eyes.

“I’m sorry…it’s just…a lot to remember and I’m really tired-”

“Darling, _no!”_ And lids opened back up to see worry fall down his face like a rainy day with no umbrella, a light exclamation to match. The older man shrugged with his interjection as best as he could with how his arms were positioned. Apparently he then noticed his own confusing tone, his left fingers soon coming to his mouth in unison as if to hush himself.

“What I mean is…Why did you come to me, wandering all on your own like this?”

The absolute opposite of what Alice had done; Joey was gently inquiring about the nature of her current thoughts and travels rather than demanding she validate her very existence. Such consideration briefly sent her reeling, but the woman managed to compose a reply.

“I’m…really tired,” was the repeated answer, “I can’t get back to my bed and I wanted somewhere to rest.”

And then for the first time for maybe his entire new life- a real, full smile graced his lips.

“How does it feel?”

A pause before realizing, the cushions smothering her back and underarms; and when she did, a curve came to her face too- a weak one, just for a second.

“Nice.”

It finally reached his eyes, crow’s feet growing tighter together and those once well-earned laugh lines reclaiming their fame long, long lost along with all he held dear.

“Good.”

Another breath of silence. But of course, we are socialized to enjoy such genuine smiles as his no matter how strange the circumstances of their coming may be, and so Francine had no choice but to return it with her own. But soon she found it was more than instinct, and so uncomfortable with her own inexplicable feelings of peace, her eyes fell shyly from his face down to the table-

…Something upon it, starting to become visible as light slid down its smooth, curved surface. A vase? A vase with-

_“Flowers…!”_

And there they were, a clump of blooms sitting in front of her. Even dried- even withered far, far past death into the pale browns and yellows of autumn…there they were.

Before she even recognized it, the petals were fading at her fingertips, her arm outstretched so the back of her hand may delicately immerse itself into a simple pleasure she had unconsciously expected to never have again.

Francine couldn’t deny sensing the stretch of her lips pull further and further up as she did.

“You think often about other people, don’t you?”

Just beyond the plants so old they seemed to have turned into paper themselves, a man of a complimentary shade of cream had given a blunt observation in the form of a question, worded in such a way that it necessitated a reply.

One eyebrow raised, Francine’s hand pulling back as her attention was altered yet again. “What makes you say that?”

“Well,” he began with a bit of a cough, stepping around the back of the chair so he may mirror her seating, “When I asked you about yourself, the very first thing you told me was that you arrived because of someone else.” Before she could interrupt to give some sort of clarification- how, she didn’t know yet- he continued.

“But what about _you?”_

And that kind expression upon his face suddenly seemed much more knowing. Hers, however, only lurched further into bewilderment.

That was enough of a response for him.

“You’ve been here for a bit of a while, my dear girl.” Mr. Drew tipped his hat off his head with a tired yet obviously practiced flair, looking it over with half-lidded eyes as it dangled between his middle finger and thumb upside-down. “And I haven’t once heard you talk about what _you_ were like-”

He set the hat down next to the glass jar between them, a petal or two falling inside its void with the barely a bump he caused in doing so.

“-Only…what _others_ were like.” Fingers tented together and one leg crossed over the other, Joey looked past his hands upon a woman so, so much younger than he thanks only to forces beyond comprehension.

It was incredible how such a short period of time had made purely human things incomprehensible, too.

People always questioned Francine’s survival here. Often they denied her what made them feel secure in this hell- or only very, very hesitantly shared it. It was as if Bendy’s preservation of her was a slight to them, and honestly?

Sometimes she wondered if she’d have been better off like however they were instead of retaining what they envied.

Only in her darkest moments.

She pushed that back and away, a crisis to deal with another day. Right now was something else, something…important. She had been questioned as a being but not always thought of as a _person._ And until Joey pointed it out, she never recognized it quite like this.

How…stressful this alone had been.

And indeed, in others’ ignoring and ignorance of her own plights, pains, hopes, and history- she had chased after those of everyone else.

As if she could piece them back together. As if _they_ could piece _her_ back together.

As if the collage their memories formed, once complete, would blanket over the sickening sight of everything she had to leave behind.

“Frankie…”

His voice was so hollow yet so, very warm. Those honey irises weren’t staring at Francine in wonder- they looked upon her with a _cceptance._

_He understood her kind of sacrifice like no one else could. Only he knew what it was like to be so selfless._

“Tell me about what makes you who _you_ are. Not Sammy, not Susie, not the ink demon.” And then he shifted his whole body forward, as if getting closer to her somehow helped.

It…did.

“Tell me about _Francine.”_

And for the first time in however many weeks she’d been talking to spirits long severed from lives of old, she was not only allowed but invited to tell her story instead of merely elaborating how she was connected to their curse, linked to the misery of this universe. As she had proved of everyone else, now it was her turn to be unique in who she was and who she wanted to be in her life to come. She let Joey and the drawings listen instead of speak over her.

Some of it hurt, some of it healed, but it all flooded from her heart so, so readily.

Mr. Drew prayed that having her remember herself could get this wonderful young woman to forget that the beings around her used to have something to their name- if they could even recall them. It wasn’t her job.

It wasn’t her duty to find what they lost, he firmly decided then and there.

Her name was Francine Vahl, and she was a college student with a cat named Neptune, and she had vines of morning glories and moonflowers that tangled over each other in the back garden.


	6. Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“But the Lord was with Joseph and showed him steadfast love and gave him favor in the sight of the keeper of the prison.”_ – Genesis 39:21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: some new lovely art from my friend Metallic!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177029100808/metallicartist-little-something-to-brighten-up
> 
> I know this isn't a ship fic but DANG that is some FINE art!!! (I also don't mind ships btw, even if I don't write them!)
> 
> ALSO- I changed the name of Francine's cat to Neptune, because "Neptune the Mystic" is a song of Gingie's.

Why was it so easy to suddenly find herself walking alongside this old man?

It must have been her wandering spirit, one soul joined by another akin in restless ways within trapping barriers. It was more of a pace, however, than a walk; a dragged look to the drawings upon these aged walls. And certainly they _were_ drawn- not printed posters like those of other halls. And as she saw his pale fingers graze against the papers, tips oh so gently pulled across each and every one that fell beside his risen palm, Francine noticed there was something more…specific than that, even, in how to describe what she saw. The way they were sketched, the way they were signed…

“This is kids' art,” she realized under her breath.

Joey paused in place, middle and ring finger caught underneath a flap of one of these makeshift pieces of wallpaper. His shoulders rose and fell in a silent sigh.

“That’s right,” he answered quietly. A second- and then…

His light touch turned into a grip, a slight crease where his thumb pressed across this Bendy’s cheek, before tugging this particular piece from its reserved spot. A stare fell upon it as he took the drawing, holding it up between himself and the girl ahead.

“I never threw away a piece of art if I could help it,” Joey admitted in a voice dipped in reminiscence, “Not a _single_ thing anyone gifted to me.”

It was such a slow movement- almost like a misty ghost drifting along with a night’s breeze- but soon Mr. Drew was by Francine’s side, shoulders brushing each other as he offered the childish drawing for her to behold as well. It was hesitantly accepted, unsure if the passage of time since it’s making would mean a careless touch could tear it apart.

But no, just as it had for the cartoonist, it remained intact for her unskilled hands. This one was…painted. In the candles’ dim glow all around, she could see past the shadow her head and shoulders casted upon the paper to observe its personal details; fingerprints undoubtedly were what framed this vaguely familiar face- some smudged purposefully as a decorative border, some surely the inevitable and accidental trailings of a youngster’s messy hands as they picked up their creation with haphazard pride.

A hushed laugh from behind her shoulder, not one of joy but of the longing of what he could see in his mind but no longer have in front of him again.

“Christopher,” he mused with dismay, tapping against the large signature sloppily but lovingly scrawled in the corner, “I remember him…A good boy…So proud that he asked his parents to take him all the way to my very own studio, just so I could see this too.”

The pie-eyed toon innocently stared back at its inventor until Joey took it back out of Francine’s grasp and replaced the sheet back among the many, many others.

Now, Francine was still very delicate herself- as much as the faded soul next to her was. They both were rediscovering vulnerability side by side- both allowing memories of not what Mr. Drew had taken away but of what made them who they were before all this. There was a lot of overlap in such a concept, so it was…bittersweet. Extremely so.

That was the word that described Joey best, though, especially now that he knew who she was before.

The young college student’s eyes towed from picture to picture, like a string pulled them all along together and she was trying to find where it led.

Of course, it took her back to not Bendy’s face but that of his maker.

His eyelids were half closed, a smile playing with the corner of his lip but not allowing it to truly curl up. Sadness had washed over him while her attention was away and left the man mute as the voices of the those who bestowed these papers into his custody chimed again in his head like they were last heard yesterday.

As timeless as his realm was, they might as well have been.

“Even…even the first sketch we made,” he murmured, breathless amid a frozen century, “Even before I knew how _special_ Bendy was going to be…I kept it.”

With their god the ink demon, it served as both an emotional sentiment as well as a confession of sin.

But the strength of neither stopped her curiosity.

“Where’s that one?”

Joey’s eyes behind their ink-splattered glasses then fluttered back to being fully open, shifting his neck to look at her and putting his hand to his heart in quiet but certain astonishment.

She saw his honey irises glance over her, up and down before his expression fell once again and he turned back away.

“It’s gone.”

This…was a tonal shift, hearty enough to make Francine second guess her gut feeling to press further, so for now…she would let this go. Her eyes finally pried off the back of his head- the hat still remaining on the desk a ways away to reveal his hair’s slicked nature and slight lengthiness down his neck- and she joined him in his forward stare.

She could endure the drawings’ piercing stares of judgement just a moment longer, just for him to be free of a bit less pain in memory.

There was, however, something else at just the right level of discomfort for her to address.

"Why's this place different since I've been here?” A pause; clarification was needed. “To see you, I mean."

This seemed to disrupt his current freezing in place, because his head shifted briefly towards her in scrutiny before turning forward once again. She could see his gaze wavering.

"Oh darling…this curse is a _puzzle,”_ a lamentation sighed from his lips, “I still can't tell if I've been passed from one place to another or if the room itself changed!” He let a smile tease with his mouth just a second, finding humor in horror until the latter thing became all too familiar once again.

“It… imprisons me, regardless.” A remarkable softening as Francine saw his nose turn up with a curled brow, slowly taking in all around him. “No matter how much it shifts into new shapes, it'll still be my cage."

And then his wandering began again, perhaps uncomfortable with the motionlessness of this environment embodying misdeeds, wishing to keep moving so his mind may as well.

But as he turned and she stepped alongside-

"So... What makes it do that?"

Francine’s naïve inquiry stopped him in his tracks, but it almost seemed like throwing the breaks of a train; his body may have been immobilized, but it took a second for thoughts to cease rattling in his skull with the sudden change. Finally, he looked at her once again.

Something…shifted over Joey’s face. At first, a slight squint- worry seeming to pinch the underneath of his eyes- before he continued back on his way, head slowly returning ahead and away from his guest.

"...Heaven knows," came her answer in a low whisper.

"Did you know it does that other places too?"

Yet another interruption, yet again unexpected, yet again made him pause.

"…What do you mean?" Joey bounced the question back at her, his voice seeming to be deeply soaked with an upset he managed to quiet.

Francine saw him look her over yet again. He seemed…haunted. It haunted her in return, apprehension urging her to put her hands underneath her chest and have them hold each other in anxiety.

Oh god. He looked so… _stressed_. A man that already dealt with so much just…- in allowing himself to see her now. And now he seemed like he was barely holding himself together, only for her sake, as she revealed aspects of a world he created but did not fully know.

…But he deserved to know.

"Like…like when I started to look for you,” she stammered hesitantly, forcing herself to meet his eyes no matter how much her gut begged to shy away, “It got...different. It got... _scary."_

That last word seemed to resonate, dissipating into the air around him, changing the atmosphere itself.

"...Is that so?"

A tone both curious and cautious, and so she suddenly felt empowered.

_"Yeah...!"_

And then, a quiet huff of a laugh from the man by her side. "Well isn't that something."

The brown from the corner of his eye finally moved off her with a blink. Something swept over his demeanor this moment; Francine assumed it must have been a realization to him- that not only did the studio change to continue to entrap him, but that it willfully warped to terrorize others as well.

The shock of it all must have been what rendered the humans silent with ponderance for a minute or so.

But as was her steady way, it couldn’t hush Francine forever.

"Joey?"

And this time when he stopped walking, he turned to her almost expectantly, half-lidded eyes and a gentle voice and gaze.

But undoubtedly, an aura of great seriousness, of immense awareness.

"Yes, my dear?"

The woman felt a frown press into her cheeks, unknowing how to say what was upon her tongue nor entirely _what_ she needed to say in the first place.

Certainly though, there was something there they couldn’t ignore. And he needed it.

 _She_ needed it.

"Why did it let me find you?" she finally found to speak.

A few blinks from him and a furrowed brow… Troubled. He was troubled by this.

"I'm going to sound like a broken record, darling, but...heaven knows."

More silence, but this kind was different. This kind was _deliberation._ And after a moment, her eyes quietly lit up.

She found what maybe he could not.

"I...I actually-...don't think it let me."

His look sharpened as she spoke, a slight twitch as if he was adjusting himself to fine-tune his facing her to absolute exactness.

"B-... _Bendy_ showed me how to find you...in _spite_ of it."

A flash- there, across his face. A slight tinge of something- something she couldn’t identify. But that wasn’t something to mull over, not like what she was beginning to uncover.

It was an…amazingly perplexing concept, if what she was thinking was really true.

"He...he saved my life," she confessed in the quietest voice in the world. Her fingers interlaced with each other so restlessly with this, and it made her feel something to stare down at them as they did so; eventually, though, she managed to pull herself back to this purgatory’s architect for a reaction.

There was one; those honey eyes widened, and his expression darkened.

But dawning horror couldn’t stop a racing mind.

"I was-" Francine’s sentence was cut off by none but herself; maybe to be blunt about her introduction to the demon and his saviorhood would be too much for this frail gentleman, and so the word “dying” was quickly omitted from her tale. "-I was pretty hurt when I first came here and...he just-..."

Remembering.

Sammy. The rope. The touches. The tastes. The pain.

**_Bendy._ **

"He...healed me. Somehow," emerged an awed mumble, soft with recollection of not only the impossible rescue of her mortality but of this new, uncertain nature of the demon who did so. Her voice began to tumble in her throat, forcing herself to continue despite a sickening stomach. "And- and then-"

Joey’s presence was of complete and utter silence, a witness to her unfolding conspiracies.

"He gave me...my phone back." She pulled the device out of her pocket, one of the few spots of color this world had ever seen. _"This."_

It must have come as a surprise to him, its sudden show momentarily catching his eyes and eyes alone before Joey managed to drag that same gaze back to her. As he did, Francine’s hand and the phone in it flopped helplessly down to her side, her mouth gaping with breathlessness.

"I just-...he's..."

And right on the cusp of something just on the edge of her mind- barely out of reach of understanding but still entirely untouchable- it took her. Her eyeballs shook in their sockets; her cheeks pushed backward in a grimace; a shiver began to crawl over her chest and arms. And-

A hand on her shoulder, wishing to still whatever was creeping up from the back of her consciousness.

"Calm down, my girl.” A soothing tone, like a father finding his child scared of midnight lightning making noise and shadows turn into monsters. “Calm down."

Finally hearing her own breath and how frantic it had become without her noticing, Francine tensed as she felt this pressure next to her neck. But then as it remained motionless, so began she. The muscle strain faded and allowed her to sense the tranquility of his touch, how firm and yet how delicate it seemed to take care for the person underneath his fingertips.

Her attention trailed from herself to his hand, and then it traced up his arm until it met his pensive face, glittering eyes in the hazy light.

Joey needn’t command with his voice what his expression already did, and so the woman took one deep breath and then another, waiting for him to respond.

What came was maybe something she had wanted to avoid all along.

"Now I don't want you to fret over things we can't understand. It won't do you any good- not at all."

A breath was taken, but only to lend him time to form words for the things that had plagued him.

"The ink demon is...inexplicable.” The last few syllables were sighed, steeped with decades of experience. “Believe me, I have tried for longer than you could know to understand him- hoping, praying that if I did-…I can force him to release us."

No, that look upon him did not change. These statements served as more than words of comfort for a woman finding no fruits for her labor; he really meant this.

And for someone that up until now wanted to know everything- even if it meant chasing powers unfathomable- it terrified her.

More so than the demon himself in this second of her life- hearing that maybe she could never grasp what it meant to be alive here, with both his permission and his taunting.

But of course, she began to know something else- that this very thing was what the spirit before her had spent his whole perdition trying to accept.

And so this being wise in his punishment’s ways now didn’t look _at_ his most recent victim but _through_ her, disturbed with things unspeakable unless he was given the same number of years to say them as were taken.

Joey was deceptive in how he described the demon. To knowingly not understand is also a form of understanding.

And so he comprehended, but could not change a thing.

_Not like this._

"I...ask you not to fret over these things, Frankie. I know it's certainly difficult not to ponder, but...please, trust me. It grows... _wearisome."_

Somehow without taking another step, he was closer to her. A gloss fell over the whites of his eyes- a soundless, desperate kind of begging that he tried to make her see.

"And I don't want that for you."

"But-..." she stuttered, wide-eyed herself.

"Frankie, the demon…has been kind to you-... it sounds like,” he interrupted. Yet another one of those flickers over her, one that Francine recognized as one of complete disbelief in how she existed before him; it was oh so familiar. "...Impossibly so. And so has my-... _his_ studio, in your presence."

And then Joey’s eyes crinkled with a slight shake of the head, never once straying from his locked gaze upon her.

Upon all that she meant, represented to him.

It was so very important.

"...That's the most hope...I've felt in a long time. That things are shifting and all we can do is wait for this change to come. The fact that you've not only broken into my seal but are... _allowed_ to see me now with ease speaks volumes alone."

Francine was sure he could feel the tremble in her jaw as one of his hands moved to touch the underneath of it, not in a hushing clasp but a…dare she say… _loving_ reminder that she was here before him.

Like a parent loves a child.

But of course.

Joey would always be a father first and foremost, in his last life and then the next.

Especially as he was forced to watch her wither away with each horror of the studio, much like the flowers had upon his desk. So difficult to think about-…twisted like a knife into his heart so much…

But, he believed, that unlike them she was still green with chance and youth. She still had time, he could still have hope-

"Until we leave this place...you can come to me. I shouldn't have expected you to keep your discoveries all to yourself, knowing there's a man out there that is to blame for everything, but..."

Now she could feel _his_ tremble through the touch of his hand.

"...Please...come to me if these thoughts trouble you again,” Joey pleaded breathlessly, “You shouldn't be alone with them. They'll only eat you up.” Spoken in nearly a whisper, undoubtedly born through his own extensive history of hurting his own feelings over and over and over by looking for what could not be found, a self-inflicted torture.

And then he confirmed as much:

"I would know."

And even in all his tenderness, Francine could not move. She couldn’t hold him back, nor in any way return his touch.

“Joey…” No, she couldn’t even return his words.

To be raw with all he had felt since he cursed fate itself was enough to stun anyone besides he whom had grown accustomed to live alongside it- thanks only to a forced custody of stolen time.

This proposal- no, this _promise_ spoke with striking precision to everything Francine ever wanted from others here. It was as if he had known her far longer than she had known him, even if this also asked her to try to give up what so far drove her to keep going, to keep from letting the gloom of the ink take her too.

And so she was unprepared to know how to welcome it.

"I don't deserve any kindness-” Joey began in her place as she left the air empty, “-None at all- but-...I am here if you need me, since the studio so allows-"

One last and most meaningful second of time spent on hesitation.

"-...If...you...even want to be in my presence,” he finished, uncertainty breaking his sentences to pieces.

And so the choice was hers to make. To decline his comradery- and it would have been justified- or embrace it amid a universe that could never understand them both.

But she had decided a long time ago, didn’t she? Even if she and him had thought so differently about what to do with shattered destiny.

“…Of course.”

But then acceptance necessitated sincerity.

“Thank you,” Francine could barely murmur, pitch high and soft with benevolence unexpected as she felt her chin move ever so slightly into his palm with each spoken word.

And she was close enough this time to see exactly how every bit of his face changed with a growing smile, her own words used to reflect a different but equally profound purpose:

“Of course.”


	7. Lure and Lull

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“The Lord has made everything for its purpose, even the wicked for the day of trouble.”_ – Proverbs 16:4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY SO I COMMISSIONED MY FRIEND ACE FOR ART OF MY JOEY AND I NEED YOU ALL TO SEE IT RIGHT NOW IMMEDIATELY BECAUSE ITS UTTERLY FANTASTIC
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177183125008/aceofintuition-is-there-anything-quite-so

Let’s leave Francine behind for a bit- at least as we see her now, her soul caressed in the hands of a father eternal. Let’s release their conflicting emotions as both found peace and upset; the young woman scared to contemplate a life without chasing all she did not know and yet finding comfort with the promise of someone who would not only always care for her but promised to _listen_ to her calls for comradery- the fulfillment of her search for others in order to find solace for herself in their arms; the ancient man so terribly afraid of being known at all, and yet rediscovering the absolute _joy_ of speaking to someone again- to not only witness but interact with so the other person may feel all the warmth in his heart.

And how did Joey believe he had so much warmth left to give, locking it away between his lungs like holding his breath for far too long.

Amazing, isn’t it? That Joey was fearful to be close and Francine was fearful to let go, and yet they began to find how relieving it was to allow.

How…simple it was to let a phobia take you until it becomes something good.

But that’s not what Sammy was thinking about when Francine left him alone his own fears. It had begun when she returned from retrieving the photo- no. Even before then. Maybe when she had first been put into his custody.

What his contradictory feelings were resided within his budding acknowledgement of life outside his personal hell; that was the good part.

It was also the bad.

The photo- those faces. The glasses…

 _His_ face.

That thing he found while wandering on his own as Francine did the same looked like those on the bridge of that _human_ man’s nose in the black and white picture. When he recalled this image- gone but not forgotten- he didn’t know who it was barely smiling back at him- he only guessed, only hoped that it was he.

Maybe hoped it wasn’t, too.

But as he sat in his sanctuary shortly after his companion escaped it to find rest, he couldn’t doubt something else that made that photo undeniable.

Between glossy fingers careful not to stain broken lenses any further, two ovals of glass were held up towards the ceiling, being played with ever so delicately to observe how light shifted across the clear surface and the metallic frames with every movement of his knuckles.

These- something even deeper inside than his own gut was yelling at him- were _his._

And for these to be his could very well mean that that man could be his too.

Along with doubts about God, the omnipotence he entrusted so unquestioningly that he never looked for his past until Francine shoved it into his face?

Well that was simply unbearable to sit alone with.

And now he was beginning to remember why Francine never seemed to keep still; it was a familiar pain that he had shoved aside, to be uncomfortable with your own thoughts in a quiet room.

Sammy should have known from all the years before her what it was like to be alone with things you don’t want to see. Fear was consuming him, and it made him restless.

And all he could think to do to quiet dark ideas were to delve deeper until the voice of someone who knew could silence all the others who merely begged.

Sammy didn’t know if he really wanted to have known her before. But all the same, he journeyed with purpose back to the last place he’d see Francine…

Only for her to be there waiting for him, in the arms of an angel.

The prophet froze where he stood, legs and arms outstretched side to side and his shoulders rising and falling in panic. It was a response so very active- so very upset- that served as a great contrast to what was before him.

In this small chamber was a couch placed the wall, with the visage of the dancing demon’s opposition tinging every corner of the room with her aura. One was propped up tall as a cutout, full stance watching over the others. And as Sammy’s painted eyes fell upon Francine, he saw she was guarded with yet two more of the same being.

And only one was a doll.

He only caught a split second of the end of the angel’s moment of reprieve- that instant where her one perfect eye was nearly closed shut, either a black iris or a pupil looking aimlessly forward above slightly parted, torn lips. She didn’t hide it in time for him not to see, but all the same it was so quick how her head twisted and gaze snapped to lock onto him- like she was a lioness and he was prey wandering into her den.

And maybe he was.

But all the same, Alice knew without even looking to the mortal at her side to know this wasn’t the place to maim.

That would be somewhere else.

And so as Sammy stood there, silent with shock, Alice Angel put a single finger to her lips to signal he remain silent around her sleeping cherub…or else.

And maybe it was the stun of the whole scene. Maybe it was seeing his fellow disciple finally, finally at rest- her eyes closed shut and hair swooping messily around her in this suspension of consciousness- her fists gently closed shut and folded over her stomach and chest…

Maybe it was that he promised he would trust her.

And so she would have to trust him in unwitting return as the spider lured the prophet into her web right in front of her nose. He had only come to see one of these women, but it seemed to follow at Francine’s heels with an inevitable destiny…but that would not stop him from trying to find that which was stolen from him, even if it the answers could lie with the creature that hated him most.

One last glance back at the sleeping woman before Sammy allowed Alice to lead him away, a conversation to be had outside of the reaches of innocent ears.

He had sins to answer for before Alice would tell him a thing about who he used to be, and so Francine would then be left on her own to choose Joey’s abyss over an empty room.


	8. Gone but Not Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Cast your burden on the Lord, and he will sustain you; he will never permit the righteous to be moved. But you, O God, will cast them down into the pit of destruction; men of blood and treachery shall not live out half their days. But I will trust in you.”_ – Psalm 55:22-23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY MY FRIEND STAR MADE SOME ART OF HER OC IVY IN MY JOEY'S OUTFIT, AND THEN DREW A TINY SAMMY AND FRANCINE CLIMBING ON TOP OF MINTY (a fusion between my Joey and that of my friend Ace)
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177238140103/startistdoodles-another-successful-stream-o
> 
> (Also I made art of my Joey, Gingie, and im very proud so here it is hehe:)  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177251288768/chamomile-carillon-dear-old-joey-with-dreams

And away they went, deeper and deeper into the darkest lair of angels, untouched by heaven’s light above the studio. Sammy had so very much locked inside his chest, and it all felt like it simply wanted to break out- to tear a hole right through his liquid ribcage to shoot out at the person in front of him.

It was a rageful desire, but surprisingly not to direct violence towards the angel herself.

…Although she certainly had much in mind for him, slithering all the way down into her domain as if there wouldn’t be consequences. As if there would be nothing to say about him past, present, and future that made her _sick._ And even though it was still unfathomable why, precisely, Alice despised Sammy besides in how his position as prophet put them in opposition- a literal demon versus angel scenario where he was with the latter-…Sammy knew something else.

Sammy knew not what he was hated for, but that there was certainly something still lingering from all the way back- when their bodies flowed with blood instead of ink- that she seemed to cling to but he in lost memory could not.

And as Alice was the only person he had identified to keep this sacred yet utterly cursed knowledge of what their lives were like before all this, she too was the only one to ask to bestow it upon him.

And so he had correctly anticipated her wrath as payment in return.

“Do you REALLY think you can come into MY place, into MY domain and look me in the face like you’re so _innocent?!”_

Far, far out of the earshot of a woman she had grown to pain for, Alice deemed it more than just appropriate to not hold back.

No. It was _necessary._

_Sammy was simply deserving of whatever came his way._

Her fist pounded against the wall of the elevator as it continued to carry them down and away from the soul they cared about in such different yet reminiscent ways. The sound echoed up and up and up, but Francine would never hear it.

Maybe she was already gone, but Sammy wasn’t aware of her new comradery; he only felt the noise of Alice Angel’s rage vibrate into his gut and refused as best as he could muster its sick feeling.

The shadows of the bars crossed over their faces- Alice’s scarred with near perfection and Sammy’s mask tarnished with devotion.

Both held the markings of longing for what they may never have, and so encapsulated complete and utter terror that made Alice scream and Sammy silent.

“Worshiping the _ink demon!”_ The most cutting of scowls carved into her face, pinching her one true eye underneath with disgust. She might as well have been spitting at him. But then somehow…a look of total abhorrence became something even more offended.

“It was one thing for you to make up a whole damn religion just to make yourself feel better, putting trust in the last thing you should,” she hissed quietly, shadow crawling over both the natural and unnatural curves and indents of her body, “It was pointless to think anyone else to fall for it, and so I. Let. It. Go.”

Even closer. He could see the torn side of her face twitch as muscles still in slices did their best to abide by the pull of her emotion, her fury.

_“But then you took her with you.”_

An opportune time for the elevator to creak to a halt. Instead of maybe following an instinct of unforgiving viciousness, she turned on her heel with a shake of the head and what could only be described as the most seething of groans and stomped out of the now open door.

A hand raised above her shoulder with one finger curling and uncurling, less of a beckon he follow and more of a threat that he shouldn’t even imagine what’d happen if he didn’t.

And against every instinct of his own, so he abided.

Silence. For a long, long time only the sound of their feet as they moved forward, and as they did, Sammy remembered that there was more reason than simply Alice that he never journeyed down to Heavenly Toys. It was somehow hollower, more haunted than every other corner of the studio.

And God, he once sent Francine here to find his own identity in his place.

But in poetic justice, now it was his turn to find the scraps still left behind, presumably in the seraph’s ink-gloved hands.

The deeper she lured him to somewhere more fitting to contain her wrath, the more he accepted what he had braced for- that he was helpless. He gave a noiseless prayer of thanks that at least his horrid body was good for hiding the involuntary expressions of fear.

Not that she was looking back at him anyway.

But suddenly, Sammy felt panic grip onto him instead of measly dismay as they drifted down and down to hell knows where. The silence- her silence- he couldn’t stand it anymore; something about what she had said perplexed him in a way unexpected, and finally…he couldn’t leave it be.

 _“You_ …care about my friend?”

And she stopped in place so fast that he couldn’t prevent an inevitable fumbling into her backside. A yelp- not from her throat but his. Legs immediately stumbled backwards- far further than he needed to in order to provide her space, and arms flinched and outstretched side to side.

But Alice didn’t attack in retaliation, as was expected. She only stood frozen, only showing the back of her hair and the organic ornaments attached to her skull. It was almost as if she didn’t feel his touch.

No, what he said had clasped at her heart instead until it numbed everything else.

“…Of course I do.”

A breath of quiet, only the machines that built these walls up and over them spoke in their place. The gloss of her fingers adjusted as clenching moved the dim lights across their shape.

_“Someone has to.”_

And with that, the angel continued to trudge ahead through the sharp, metallic tunnel towards her haven, never once looking back to he that questioned if she had a heart not in her hand but her chest.

“And don’t dare call her your _friend.”_

A giant tangle of feelings and thoughts Sammy was left to trek through lest he be left in her dust. First was the confirmation of what he already knew- that Alice hated him for his trust in the demon. But what else was there?! Who else was there to trust, who else was omniscient, omnipotent, and omnipresent? Those were the traits of a _god,_ and for the prophet, it was undeniable that he should be treated as such.

But now…he was beginning to grasp why someone should fear those things not in worship but in dread.

And that collided with the seraph’s second listing of his sin- that Sammy pulled a spotless lamb into the endless, staining sorrow of his oil-like palms and leaking mouth, reaching and speaking beliefs to ears looking for something to listen to besides the siren call of endless anguish.

And as much as he pushed such a terror away, he couldn’t stop the trepidation of if this was his blessing to Francine or the spreading of a curse. But-

He didn’t know it, but the room they entered next would coincide with his words so, so terribly, only coming as a counter in his surprise at the immortal’s shreds of humanity.

“I thought…you hated him. That man from before.”

Now this was enough to compel Alice finally turn to face him, lined with the radiance of a room half empty with mechanical beds for cartoon corpses, littered absolutely everywhere that a rickety platform above a black lake would allow.

The look about her told Sammy before her voice did that he had made a mistake.

 _“HENRY_ came for trouble,” the angel retorted, that grimace curving into a sneer of justification. Of what, Sammy could only guess. _“HE_ succeeded in WHATEVER goal he had to take _each and every BORIS FROM ME!!!”_

Her shout crescendoed into a shriek as the betrayed woman tried to explain not just to Sammy but herself how the hatred for one person of flesh tried but could not be passed onto another- for that was surely what the prophet accused her of; he was in disbelief that the sins of one mortal man was not painted upon another mortal woman with the brush of Alice’s timeless disdain.

The turn of her gaze towards that closest, most hauntingly unoccupied of these vertical beds of metal sheets was so quick that some of the heavenly monster’s untied hair got caught on the horn emerging through it. A single eye flickered in its socket, and the one that was empty somehow seemed to be shaped with hurt too. A rage for the ink demon’s loyal disciple was so, betrayingly easy to transform into lamentation.

It wasn’t only Sammy she couldn’t forgive, after all. There was so very much about this world that took away just to watch her try to take it back, like teasing a cat with a toy mouse it’ll never catch.

Again and again since Henry left not just with his own body but with every remnant- every piece of evidence that a living Boris had ever existed among them…Alice had to face this chamber alone. It’s tall, mocking girth for the emptiness it now contained, now housing only the cadavers of the Butcher Gang.

It was like…each wolf had simply melted away.

But when someone melted away here, they normally came back some way or another; that was the curse of the ink- that no matter how many times one died, it could never put the soul at rest. And in all the decades since Joey’s long lost son returned to find what was left of his father, no soul drowned in the puddles emerged in the form of a canine ever, ever again.

And since, Alice had hoped, tried, and prayed for a way to complete her body without the ones that seemed to do so best- only for it to fall apart until all that was left to look at was perfection in sight but out of reach for as long as she could know.

Unlike Sammy, she never believed that there was anything left for her on the outside, and so to be an angel was the best she could manage if she couldn’t be Susie ever again.

But thanks to _HIM…_ it grew to be more and more possible that not even _that_ was feasible in a world made to give dreams their physical form.

Sammy saw Alice’s fingers grip the upright surgical table that once served as a symbol of her pride, of her accomplishment in becoming _someone_ once more- something that set her apart from the rest. Everyone else- even and especially the pathetic man before her now- had never put destiny in their own hands. They only waited. They only whined.

Unlike her, they didn’t _do._

But now with no corpse under the table’s straps, its emptiness drifted until it filled the lungs she had but seemed not to need, and the expression upon her dropped along with the stare of her eyes. It was all so overwhelming- all so _terrible_ to think about- and yet…-

“She…never came to hurt me,” Alice muttered with unfathomable softness, gaze unfocused as much as her destiny was without the tools to complete it. “… _Francine-”_ She spoke her name in direct, spiteful contrast to that of the one who intruded long ago. “-…Never came to hurt anyone. _She came to find someone.”_

And the scorned angel seemed to find herself again, picking herself back up to pierce Sammy with a black eye and a black hole, crossed arms and frowning lips.

“How cruel of fate that she find _you.”_

And as much as he wanted to argue to the face glaring through him, judging everything that made Sammy who he was, what kept him alive…no.

He couldn’t.

It would have been better if Francine never found any of them at all.

But Alice mistook this quiet as a refusal to acknowledge his own misdeeds, and so the seraph moved on to topics maybe not less personal but still less vulnerable to her shaken soul.

“You came down with me without putting up a fight- not even a whimper,” she observed, dark pupil looking over him- the only part of her moving as they stood at the entry of her laboratory. “So you didn’t arrive just to take her from me, after all.” A squint- a suspicious one. “Why then?”

Something tingled along with Sammy’s racing pulse, agitating every inch until he could swear his body wasn’t quivering but rather rippling like waves across water. This was it. This was why he was here. And suddenly- this was everything.

And having no idea how to even begin, all Sammy could figure to do was reach into his pocket and share what he had found. And suddenly, everything about Alice’s demeanor changed. Every opening of her face widened in amazement; a gasp stilled the air; shoulders flinched and tightened, a hand coming over her lips in dawning amazement.

Even broken, even disfigured and bent what would normally be beyond recognition…Alice still knew almost a century since she saw them last that those were the glasses of good ol’ Sammy Lawrence, music director of the fantastical and phantasmal Joey Drew Studios.

And that twisted her stomach until words came out like vomit.


	9. For Her Sake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And out of the ground the Lord God made to spring up every tree that is pleasant to the sight and good for food. The tree of life was in the midst of the garden, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.”_ – Genesis 2:9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things! One, I wrote a drabble for this AU's Joey (which you can read as the next work of this series), and my friend Star made art of it THE SAME DAY!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177497572683/whats-not-yours
> 
> Second, my friend Ace did a chibi of my human Sammy! Look at this cutie AAAA!
> 
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177383468973/aceofintuition-i-just-got-a-ko-fi-and-if-you
> 
> Thank you both so much!

She felt so…

_Comfortable._

With her eyes closed and an inexplicable warmth wrapped around her body, Francine only had sensation to describe what she felt now. Do you know that sort of…flutter in your heart where for the first time in a long time…everything seems okay? The way that serenity spreads through your veins until it feels like everywhere you go is walking on a cloud?

Indeed, despite her fears…despite facing this big, inky unknown with encouragement to only accept it rather than engage it, question it-…Francine now finally…finally…

Felt like everything was somehow, someway, going to be okay, just as she had asked for from a god above before chasing omniscience itself to find it.

It was here all along, it seemed.

Even if they all were so different- even so _frustrating_ about it…as she let rest sweep over her until her skin was numb with peace, it dawned upon her like the sun beginning to peak over the horizon that maybe, just maybe…

Everyone she met here really did care about her in one way or another.

And it was likely she didn’t know exactly how much she meant to them to drive shadow’s citizens to do so.

To Sammy, she was a gift. Even in his growing doubts of purpose in perdition, he no longer questioned hers. She was there by the demon’s grace and even if he was no longer so sure about his lord’s wishes and intentions, hers were always clear: that he was blessed with her human companionship, and in turn it was his sacrifice to walk alongside and ensure she was as happy as can be.

Even if he couldn’t be, and so he let her chase that which he feared most.

To Alice, she was a reminder- a reflection in a living mirror of all she once had, all she wanted to make for herself again. She had only seen the mortal smile so, so briefly compared to all the time spent alone, and yet it was enough to burn her image into the angel’s mind. And if Alice couldn’t ever again _truly_ have the pristine humanity the woman felt not awarded but burdened with…

Then she wouldn’t take it for granted ever again, whether or not it belonged to her.

And to even poor, unsettled Norman, the man with so little left of him that one had to investigate to find clues he was ever a person at all- she was a pleasure. And indeed, he was a person then and still was _now,_ and so deep down the old man still carried that heavy weight somewhere in a heart buried beneath ink, reels, and tangled wires- the load that came with care’s obligations. But he only felt and could not comprehend, so it left him desperate in action. By far the projectionist scared her the most, and yet…

Even he that grasped little both in and around him not only could do so physically but spiritually to appreciate the woman unlike anything he’d ever seen.

These were all things Joey Drew let toss and turn in his mind as he saw his newest victim curled up in the best chair of an office he used to be proud to call his own. They cared about her. They all did. In all the years they were trapped together, it took such little time to find her important.

This child was important because even if she could deem each and every being of ink a monster, she no longer would. She didn’t think herself better and never once had since she stepped foot in his studio. Everyone was her equal, and not even a thousand miles of disconnect between what those of the puddles experienced and what she of daylight did could stop her from finding a way to empathize, refuse to hate.

And so it was natural that souls so thirsty for love would love back, whether or not they consciously wanted to.

And this…oh _this…_ was both the greatest blessing and worst curse to settle in the air of Joey Drew Studios. And he knew it.

He knew it very well.

The keeper of dreams come alive quietly took a step closer to the woman that disrupted a world defined by this word, his shadow falling over her face, lap, and gently closed fists as he allowed her any comfort he could possibly give. It was so little- merely a _chair_ for her to sleep in- but it was the most he had, at least right now.

And it shook him to his core. It scared him beyond belief that here she was- here she was in the heart of the worst ring of hell, the most agonizing of destinies…practically falling right into his lap, he who created it all.

It was a responsibility he didn’t take lightly.

Couldn’t afford to.

So many people were at stake- not just her but every single other that he had ever taken from the life they deserved. And so he resolved this exact moment to not allow the studio to do to her what it had done to Henry, no matter what that entailed. He’d give everything he hadn’t before for his son to ensure that not only she was safe but that their cage would remain so as well.

Joey was such a loving man, and God bless him that love was maybe the only thing that kept the studio from imploding, tearing itself and all inside a part…

Like it tried to the last time someone as human as Francine had paid this old man a visit.

This was why love was the most wonderful, dangerous thing of all, and this time around…Joey resolved to embrace it with the firm hold of wisdom of his past mistakes than let passions crash around. He couldn’t let that happen again. Not ever, ever again.

Francine dreamt someone gently brushed the hair off her forehead and whispered “I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise you that. For your sake, I’ll do it all.”

 

* * *

 

“I just can’t believe it.”

Alice looked over the lake of oil encompassing her morbid laboratory, folding her arms and leaning her spine onto the entryway’s empty operating table.

“Must be nearly eighty, ninety years and you never once asked yourself who we used to be.” She drawled her words out in a hushed, contemplative voice dripping with both fascination and disdain for the man by her side- the man she used to have the naivety to call a comrade.

As far as Alice was concerned, he was cruel even before his humanity was taken away, and so her tone reflected such.

“If you remembered, I can’t be so sure you’d want it back.”

Of course, she was wrong. Of course nothing could be worse than how they lived now. But of course, Sammy didn’t know better, and so this terrified him.

“W-what…” Could he ask this? All these years- could he even?

He could.

“What…was it like?”

Her gaze narrowed, almost a slit of an eye staring down the man standing by her side- the man she used to think would stand by her forever so, long ago. Her arms adjusted just a touch more, a bit more into herself as no one would ever be there to hold her again.

Judging, scrutinizing that which hadn’t changed since someone did last.

Sammy gripped the table behind him, downward stretched arms and palms in the same direction. He was judging her at the same time as she did him, and there was something…unlike what he’d ever seen before. So much time trapped in the same building and yet they were together so little, almost like the most antagonistic form of neighbors in an apartment complex or former childhood best friends that lived in the same city and yet refused to speak. They both thought they knew each other far too well, and so they chose not to know each other at all.

“Tell me…” Alice began, still staring him down despite all but her black iris facing the rickety gateway to heaven, “…How can you miss something you don’t even know?”

And she said this so gently with hate because she knew better. She knew who she was and what she had. And she would miss it…and yet was the only one she could identify to have enough memory- unlike Sammy- or sense- unlike Norman- to recognize where she was now in contrast to who she was then…and be fully and _justifiably_ unsatisfied.

Besides Francine, of course, and maybe that’s why Alice appreciated her no matter how much the seraph tried to shake off a guardian’s duties.

Sammy could only stare back, stunned by her words. That was her intent, and so she then looked up ahead, seeing her past in the reflections of an inky sea.

_“Do you know what it’s like to be alone with it?”_

Different. This was…different. More like a scared child than the woman this prophet was so, so afraid of. In all his years, he was finally relearning that even the one he considered most evil in this world of sin had her own fears and feelings to attend to. He had no opportunity to respond, however, as Alice was not done uncovering what no one had ever asked to see until he and his disciple one after the other.

_“Do you know what it’s like to be alone with everything you ever were and had, twisted in right front of you so it’s barely recognizable but still just familiar enough to torture you if you stare back for too long?”_

As Sammy bent at his waist even further…no…it was unbelievable.

She was shaking.

Indeed, that grip on herself was more of a desperate hold to keep herself from melting away than anything else, and now even the perfect half of her mouth had lips parted to show gritting teeth.

“I wish I was like you Sammy.”

He gasped.

 _“…I wish I didn’t remember,”_ she said about as quietly anyone ever could.

And so the questioning preacher was beside himself, disbelieving that this hellish angel was more of a person like he than he had dared to imagine, how that ached in his chest alongside the already stinging doubts he had about the nature of his god. The dynamic he believed-…knew to be true- it had always made him think that the person who opposed the studio’s benevolent lord must be inherently and only malevolent. Good and evil- black and white.

But maybe even though cartoons were that easy to distinguish, it wasn’t so for those made in their image.

And so it was both bizarre and unexpected for him to witness her deconstruction not only in hopes for her to speak his own as well, but…

…Because the reasons she had given him were things worth caring for.

But finally, finally, something in her was gratified- or maybe just patched up rather than fully healed, like sticking your thumb in a dam’s leak just long enough for it not to flood. She would remove it, but not here, not with he, and maybe not for a very, very long time.

He saw her neck rotate until the horns, crooked halo, and shredded face were parallel with Sammy’s second smile. An angel in the making and the devil’s mouthpiece for once opposing each other not in battle but in assistance.

“You…were Sammy Lawrence, music director of Joey Drew Studios. The most talented musician I have ever met, and someone I used to have the gall to call my friend. I will never forgive you, not for that life and not for this one, but…for not your sake…not for mine…but for the girl who latches to you just in hope to keep her spirit alive where she sees so many at every turn rotting and dead…I’ll tell you exactly the kind of man you used to be.”

And then Susie Campbell, the one destined to be Joey’s angel, had her final say to the man that gave her a shoulder to cry on when no one saw her struggle but he, the man that along with Mr. Drew rose her far above the earth and right to the stars to make her believe she was everything she wanted and more, and the man that took it all from under her feet just to watch her crash down from heaven’s heights.

And then Sammy Lawrence began to understand what Susie meant when she said she wished to forget it all just as he did.


	10. Return

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“And I will give this people favor in the sight of the Egyptians; and when you go, you shall not go empty...”_ – Exodus 3:21

It must have been a dream.

The warmth that enveloped her swaddled and rocked until she fell asleep, but when she awoke? It was neither in Joey’s arms nor the arms of his chair that she was left among. No, there were no arms of any kind at all.

Except maybe the invisible ones of the embrace of complete and utter mystery.

She stirred, a grumble in her throat. Francine felt well rested for what was certainly the first time since she had begun to live with paper and ink. Grateful. Despite her reservations, she was…grateful to Joey for that- for what seemed to be sincere care for her, genuine regret for what he took away.

Just like Joey, how bittersweet this was for her to know.

And that’s why she didn’t notice what was different for a while. She was caught up- perplexed with how Mr. Drew could find it in his heart to be so sympathetic even when she was the very first he had seen and spoken to ever since he did this to them all. Amazing, even, that this… _care_ was what was left with him after all this time, when merely some weeks had left Francine fighting day after day to not be bitter.

And that’s why even though something in her gut disagreed, Francine was allowing herself to let his desires echo through her heart over and over. He wanted to be alone, unknown to everyone he could keep at bay. He wanted her to stop chasing what she did not comprehend. But he seemed to put both of these wants aside, just for one reason and one reason alone-

His most recent desire of her was for her to seek him out to prevent so that this woman would be alone with her fears not a second more. Not if he could help it.

And that…that was the most that anyone could offer, no matter what lifetime she picked.

She supposed that’s why she…was so unquestioning of his attentiveness, of his gentle nature and his acceptance of what must have been the worst fate of all. A villain she couldn’t paint her imprisoner to be, even if it could make her more comfortable, her circumstances more conquerable. And even as she didn’t know necessarily… _how_ she’d ever find him again, as the studio chose that for her rather than she…- she knew she’d take the opportunity once more. So good to see someone human. So good to be listened to rather than interrogated.

And just as she had begun to forget that others cared about her too even in their harassment, she finally noticed.

This wasn’t his office. This wasn’t the angel’s path. This wasn’t even any random place she had been dumped in, as if a portal deemed her time with Joey done and spat her out to filthy halls.

No, this was _purposeful._

As she lifted herself up from a lay upon the gurney, she heard the _tick!_ of that never ceasing, mocking Bendy clock. She saw a hammock, just behind all the things she clung to so dearly and thought were lost yet once more and for good.

Francine had woken up inside the safe house, the very same place she never expected to be able to enter ever again just a few days before. So in the most stomach churning mixture of gratitude, awe, and dread, she unlocked the door and left to find her roommate, unsure what lie to make up to explain this revelation.

Joey was right. The studio _was_ kind to her…unusually kind. Just like an old man that somehow wanted everything and nothing to do with his own sins. What a precarious place for her new home to be, and she began to know this just as he did. Something in the walls could _feel_ \- could _love_ her, even, or at least feel sorry enough to give her back what she had missed so very much.

Something could care for her but refuse to let her go, and that was the most terrifying thing of all.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve actually gotten so much art that the character limit won’t let me put in all the links at the end notes! WOW!!!! Thank you, everyone!!! You’re all amazing and ilysm!!!! <3  
> I will be adding links to fanart as I post chapters, but please check the following tags. I’ve categorized things by arc/drabble so that you don’t get spoilers.
> 
> The overall tag for Hymns fanart is here:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/hymns-art
> 
> The tag for Hymns of Struggle as the first work alone is here:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/hos-art
> 
> Wonders of Heresy:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/wonders-art
> 
> Parables of Empathy:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/parables-art
> 
> Flickers of Faith:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/flickers-art
> 
> Tides of Longing:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/tides-art
> 
> Cares of Communion (the part you just read):  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/cares-art
> 
> Dances of Duality:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/dances-art
> 
> A Rock in the River:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/a-rock-in-the-river-art
> 
> What’s Not Yours:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/wny-art
> 
> General/Crossover Art:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/general-art
> 
> Any art involving Gingie (the Joey of this AU):  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/tagged/gingie-art
> 
> And a commission of Gingie painted by my good friend Ace hehe:  
> https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/177183125008/aceofintuition-is-there-anything-quite-so
> 
>  **And here’s a playlist I’ve made:**  
>  https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLY8pGhalYoCuHX0dLpmuY3jNYntmUjltg
> 
>  **Read this if you plan on being so kind as to make me art yourself!!!!** (Some of it applies to content not canon to Hymns but still applies here):  
>  https://pipesflowforeverandever.tumblr.com/post/176339938068/so-with-aces-permission-im-going-to-sort-of-add
> 
> Thank you everyone for your support!!!!!! I couldn’t do it without you!!! <3 <3 <3 Special thanks to the artists that have given me so, so much more than I could ever ask for:  
> Ace, Star, Silver, Gia, Metallic, Lil Griffin, Ufopilots, June, Halfie, Fern, Moonshadow0, Mango, CrowSketches, A-Rae-Of-Sunshine, Queen
> 
>  **THIS ISN'T THE END OF THE FIC, BY THE WAY!** Go ahead and read the next work in this series!


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